


Handsome Rogue

by QuietDoe



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 18:18:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12304914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuietDoe/pseuds/QuietDoe
Summary: Origin story for Scout's Ma X RED Spy. Tbh I thought of this on the loo. Will be a small series maybe.





	Handsome Rogue

He stood at the back, like an outsider. Like peering into an aquarium, his gaze scanned the room carefully - eyes deep and focused, though slight squinted. Brows furrowed as though he met something both intriguing yet fascinatingly disgusting, the man focused on the gathering. His suit silky and a fine shade of mahogany. Surely, he looked made for this party, and yet something made him stand out from the inky shadows like a bloodstain on white curtains. An enigma indeed.

Frowning to herself, she knew what would creep up on her next. The conversation, the laughter. Eventually the heat and another rough night of sex. Another shit stain of a "man" to leave her. Leave her boys. Yet she knew her reason for coming here. And he sure looked like the kind of man with money to waste. 

Shaking herself off, a wide palm brushed the soft fabric of her bodycon, low-cut dress. Shade: Crimson. She'd done the field work, and most men (at least the suckers she sort) couldn't resist the hourglass sex appeal of a lady in rouge. Rouge. Ha! She'd definitely use that one! French... Was the "language of love" after all. She wiggled her lips, stretching the cheeks for another agonising flirt session and endless flattery for the extra dough. The coy smile, the "affection" hands, and the hip-swaying walk. She nailed it down like a feline on the prowl. Her prey, 12 o clock.

Though she'd been here before, it was still as terrifying as ever. Each time she caught luckier than the last. But fluke runs out. This, she hid well.

"Hiya, handsome~" cheeky, youthful, flirty. What the men liked. He looked. Her grin now spread ear to ear "I don't see you 'round these parts. Ha!" Then a playful thump! Her heart pounded as it slowly rose up in her throat, the walls squeezing it tightly in place. Swallowed and held there by her bright - almost painful - grin. And that squawking Boston accent! She loathed it, yet it seemed to be almost charming to the men here. What she didn't expect, was the man to watch her. An expression unwavering, threatening even the mightiest poker champ to give away his position. But his gaze wasn't harsh. Necessarily. Just cruelly dismissive, as though he'd seen better. HEARD better. She should have known better! This was one of them fancy men. They don't take to her kind! She's not smart nor sophisticated. Hell, she has 7 boys running rampant at home! Here, she was nothing more than the lowly tramp. Yet this stranger... He lured her into his darkness with stature and suit alone, and ensnared her with cold blue eyes. Like a heron baiting in fish with bread.

"Sooo uh, c-come here... Often?" Nothing.

"I like champagne too!" Nada.

"Nice suit!" ...

God, this man was unbreakable! The toughest yet. Small beads began to roll from the sheer heat and awkward tension in the air. Beneath bold lipstick, her lips began to lose moisture and it was tempting to lick them. Heck, maybe he'd find that sexy? Her hands fumbled behind her like a child in trouble, fidgeting with her wrists. Even her feet began to clop out a tune as though she were a restless mare. And her heart. She was sure he could see that damn thing stretching her throat and waving at the fella! This... Was humiliating! Sighing, she admitted defeat mentally by leaning on the wall beside him. 

"Geez, didn't think you fancy men were freakin' mutes!" 

"So that's how you see me?"

Gasping, her head practically snapped in his direction to be met with a rather playful, rather sinister, rather seductive smirk. And those eyes. Like looking into the muzzle of a revolver. Charmed like a cobra. This was the sight he was all too familiar with. But he KNEW she was different. Maybe... The hair? Or maybe the voice? Something. Something he was willing to toy with. Taste.

"You talk to me as though you're seducing a woman!" He mocked. The voice itself was... Difficult to put your finger on. Distinct, to say the least. Though his accent was thick and silky, but not smooth. Definitely a sound she wouldn't mind replacing her alarm clock.

"What-What's that? Spanish or something?" His eyes snapped open, mouth slightly agap. A rarity. An offence.

"Spanish? Goodness no! This is French!" It was worth a shot.

"Alongside that, you are the woman. I should be asking YOU if you come here often, Rouge" He chuckled beneath his breath. A smile beneath his skin.

This was all it took. Frowning, "Rouge" spun to face him. Her legs parting and stomping on the spot swiftly. Hand hooked on her left hip and head tilted. 

"Excuse me!? Well, Mr Fancy Pants-" each word met with her long nail stabbing into his chest "-that's awful sexist of you! And you French call yourselves "gentlemen"! Ha!" 

"Mignon~" he uttered, growling slightly as though to thicken his already strong accent.

"Minion? What? I ain't anyone's messenger boy! Ugh I'm beginning to regret comin' here!" She groaned, flopping back to the wall.

"With your attitude, I would have guessed you'd be fluent in French~" he teased "I called you cute" Her eyes widened, and for once, she was actually flustered.

Cute... Ehh? 

Maybe he could be of use after all...?


End file.
